The morning air continues to grow sweeter with each day of Young Summer, made sweeter still with the lingering taste of the golden fruits that join him with each sunrise.
Thæon sits now, greeting the late-morning warmth from where he sits in his favoured spot on the rock shelf, high enough from the water’s edge that Bröder can’t splash him should he go traipsing into the water. As it happens, he’s scavenging for his own food amongst the trees, keeping himself entertained where the dragon had declined to join him; the beast sunning himself just like Thæon, but he’s claimed a spot east of the river, wings splayed wide, neck stretched out as he snores softly in harmony to the whispering winds.
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